We survived the flames,
but something in us still smolders.
You press your palm against my scars,
and for a heartbeat, I forget which of us was burned first.
Love shouldn’t hurt — but sometimes it has to.
It has to break what’s brittle,
has to make us remember how we bled together
before we learned how to hold gently again.
Every time I pull away,
you drag me back with a whisper that sounds like a promise —
or a warning.
And I come anyway.
🖤 A reflection inspired by Rina Kent and H.D. Carlton — where love endures through the burn and passion becomes the proof of survival.
Reading Trauma Mama: Velvet & Taboo 